


Intelligent Design

by spica_tea



Category: Robots - Isaac Asimov
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, In Character, Prequel, Robots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spica_tea/pseuds/spica_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An in-character, canon-compliant exploration of Giskard's life from the point of being taken under the wing of Vasilia to just before Robots of Dawn. Giskard starts out as a simple-minded household robot and grows to become not only formidably intelligent, but an ambitious and skillful puppeteer of humanity. Lots of robots and robot psychology. Daneel will presumably show up some point in the future after Caves of Steel, but that is a bit away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is supposed to be an in-character, canon-compliant exploration of Giskard's life from the point of being taken under the wing of Vasilia to just before Robots of Dawn. Therefore, it will be quite long. I have an actual plot planned, so it won't be just slice of life. My goal here is to write something that completely fits into Asimov's story arc as a kind of prequel to Robots of Dawn and Robots and Empire. I am extremely fluent in the full scope of Asimov's robot stories, so there shouldn't be any serious errors, but just in case you find even a minor one, do let me know. (There are some continuity issues between his books, such as Spacer robots being allowed to be witnesses in court, Giskard being able to smile, Gladia being allowed to mother her children despite the extreme irregularity? etc etc so I'm going to typically go with whichever of them feels more likely.. typically what was in Robots of Dawn over Robots and Empire).
> 
> Anyone who likes the Robot Series SHOULD in theory enjoy this story, as there isn't anything offensive or out of character, though I have to do a lot of extrapolation, and I suppose some people might not like my interpretation.
> 
> Please enjoy! I don't know how many fans of these books are out there, but I hope there are at least a few. This is all for you guys :D

“Ah, Miss Vasilia, I hope you are well.”

            Vasilia smiled at the robot who had stepped out of his niche to address her. “Yes, Lansom. And I hope you’re well too.” She knew it was a silly thing to say, but couldn’t help herself.

            “Very well, thank you. Your father is waiting for you in the dining room. He wishes to dine with you this morning.”

            Vasilia raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Thanks, Lansom. I’ll go now.” She walked into the dining room, yawning and pulling her light sweater tightly around herself.

            “Well, good morning!” her father said as she slipped into her customary chair. “Sleep well?”

            “Uh-huh,” Vasilia said. She watched Trango and Faston bring the breakfast dishes to the table, and peered over the tops as they descended to eye level. “Blintzes?” she said, her eyes flickering to her father’s. He was smiling genially over his interlaced fingers.

            “Yes? Why shouldn’t we have blintzes? I thought you liked blintzes!”

            “Of course I do! But why? We hardly ever have them, even though,” she stuck her lip out, “you know they’re my favorite.”

            “Well, come, Vasilia, isn’t it nice when some things are kept for special occasions?”

            She picked up her fork and staved the hungry look overtaking her face. “What’s the special occasion then?” The stuffing oozed out of the blintz as she cut off the end.

            “You know, my darling,” her father began. He settled into his own plate and chewed a bite before continuing. She waiting for him to continue, but was too occupied by the breakfast to be bothered much by the hanging sentence.

            Still, after a few minutes, she looked up. “So?”

            “Well, I’m very proud of you.”

            Vasilia didn’t know much what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything.

            After a moment, he continued. “Your recent advancements in mathematics and logic are most promising. You’ve expressed interest in robotics, and I am, of course, entirely supportive of the idea.” He chuckled in delight.

            Vasilia took a sip of milk. Her father always took a long time to get to the point. “Are you going to start teaching me robotics?” she said, enthusiasm slipping into her voice.

            “Yes, I think that’s in order from now on.”

            Vasilia had been waiting for this day for a long time. He had always told her she wasn’t ready yet, needed more education, more knowledge. Now, the day had come.

            “When do we start?! When do I get to build a robot?!”

            “Now Vasilia.” Her father smiled. “You can’t expect to start building a robot at the very beginning. There’s much to learn about the positronic brain—and you have to know how the brain works to build the body. Each brain is uniquely designed for the robot, taking into account the body it will have and the task it will perform.”

            “I guess,” Vasilia said, visibly disappointed. She looked at the robots in their niches and wondered how long it would take her to build her own Trango or Faston. “But I just want to build a normal robot.”

            “No, no,” he said. “First the brain.”

            “Fine,” she sighed in defeat. “Well then, when do I get to start that?”

            “Well, right away! Today!”

            “Oh! After breakfast?”

            “Yes, right after breakfast. I’ve set aside this time especially for you, today.”

            Vasilia warmed every time her father put aside his work to give her special attention. She knew it was selfish, that his work was probably important, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to be the most important thing in his life. And she already knew that competing with his robotics work was quite the task, especially lately. He had been so absorbed in this humaniform thing that he had been a bit more neglectful than normal, leaving her to the care of Rallon and Basley. And they weren’t the most exciting playmates, especially since they’d been ordered to not let her order them around needlessly.

            “And while we’re on the subject,” her father continued, “I think that you should have a robot of your own—one you can apply your future studies to. Robotics, is, after all, a hands-on science.”

            “Really?! You’re giving me a robot for my own?!”

            “Well, I’ll still own him, but for all intents and purposes, yes.”

            “Which one?!” She looked around, as if the robot in question should be standing right there. Trango and Faston stood in their niches, disinterested. She wouldn’t be given some random kitchen robot anyway. But there weren’t any other robots in view, so she relaxed against her chair. “Rallon? Basley? Tamaril?”

            “No, no, I don’t think so, dear.”

            She thought for a moment. “Lansom?”

            Her father looked startled. “Goodness no. Lansom’s firmly mine, darling.”

            Vasilia, while unsurprised, deflated. Lansom was her favorite. He was always with her father, but paid her special attention whenever she was around. But of course her father wouldn’t give her Lansom, for Lansom was much too personal and important to him.

            She sighed, annoyed at his beating around the bush. “ _Who_ then?”

            “Well, I was thinking Giskard.”

            “ _Giskard?_ ” she said. “Why _him?_ ”

            “What do you mean ‘why him’? Why _not_ him? He’s a very good robot!”

            “Well,” she said, dragging her fork through the sauce left on her plate. “It’s just... he’s kind of _old_. And he’s awfully simple. He just does exactly what Tamaril tells him to.”

            “But Vasilia, that’s what he’s supposed to do. If he didn’t, we’d have a rogue robot on our hands.”

            “But you don’t deny that he _is_ old and simple and boring.”

            “Vasilia darling, you’re just starting out. It’s better to have a simple robot in the beginning—then it is also a simple matter to introduce improvements, which is good for your education. He _is_ a bit old—I have had him all of my adult life—but come now, you know that means nothing.”

            Vasilia sighed. “I don’t think we’ve ever even actually exchanged words, though.”

            “Well, that doesn’t matter. As soon as we’re done, we can fix that.”

            “I’m done,” she said. She had been staring at her empty plate for fifteen minutes.

            Her father patted his mouth with a napkin and stood. Trango and Faston descended upon the table almost at once. Trango stacked the dirty dishes and silverware with graceful ease, then disappeared into the kitchen. Faston remained, producing a small tin of mints.

            “Ah, none for me, Faston,” her father said.

            Vasilia took a mint and Faston snapped the tin shut, then proceeded to begin wiping the table.

            As soon as Vasilia and her father left the dining room, Lansom appeared next to them.

            “While you have been eating breakfast, sir, Doctor Sarton has called after you,” Lansom said.

            “Oh? Did he say what he wanted?”

            “No, sir. He appeared to be in a state of excitement, and wished for me to impress upon you the importance of returning his call at the earliest opportunity.”

            “Ah, well, there’s no denying the man. Still, I must attend to my daughter at least for a few moments, so if he happens to call once more, tell him that I have heard his message and will call soon.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Vasilia’s excitement melted away with her after-meal mint. A few moments was hardly the promised morning that her father originally must have had in mind. And if that Sarton was calling, the likelihood of her father remaining engaged with her was slim, especially if the man had made some great development in the humaniform project.

            “Lansom,” her father said.

            “Yes, sir?”

            “Please bring Giskard to the den.”

            “It will be seen to, sir.” Lansom bowed his head.

            Lansom did not leave, but followed them to the den. The robot, Giskard, was just entering from another hall. He stopped and stood stiffly near the overstuffed chairs which Vasilia and her father were soon sinking into. Lansom retreated to a niche by the door. Vasilia’s gaze lingered on Lansom’s handsome gleaming form, then drifted to the nearby Giskard. Compared to Lansom, Giskard looked offensively antiquated. He had none of the sleekness, nor the attractive, confident stance. Lansom had been made to be a personal assistant—to improve the image of the human he accompanied, to be an impressive accessory. Her father had seen to that—he was one of his. Giskard looked like he’d been made for work, and the designers hadn’t bothered to burnish a surface soon likely to be afflicted by dents and scrapes. He was also shorter and didn’t have much of a presence, which was an intended feature of a robot made for household tasks. She knew her father only had a particular affection for this robot because he had been one of his first private purchases. He kept him out of nostalgia.

            She knew she should have been happy to be given a robot that meant something to her father, but she couldn’t help but feel that it would be a bit embarrassing to be followed around by something so unimpressive. Everyone knew she was Fastolfe’s daughter. Everyone would expect her to have the best.

            “You wanted to see me, sir,” Giskard said, without even a shade of emotion beyond positive neutral.

            “Yes!” Her father looked on the robot with a much fonder expression. “From today on, you are to personally attend to my daughter, Vasilia. Barring orders from myself, she is your overseer. No more household work. Well, unless Vasilia orders it, of course.”

            “Yes, sir.” No _my pleasure, sir_. No _I would be most satisfied to serve Miss Vasilia_. But what should she expect? Conversation was not his forte. Maybe she would be able to change that.

            “Furthermore, she is soon to begin”—she noticed he did not say today—“her studies in robotics. You are to assist her in any way possible, in addition to submitting to alterations she may wish to make to your programming over the course of her studies.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Though while we’re on the subject,” he turned to Vasilia, “you will undoubtedly feel compelled to play around with him a bit... but try not to do anything without consulting me first. I am rather fond of him, as you know. I’d hate to see him damaged beyond repair because of a small error.”

            “Of course, I wouldn’t, father!” Vasilia’s eyes widened under her furrowed brow. “I’m not going to ruin my one very own robot!”

            “Yes, of course, darling. I just, well, you never know. Well-meaning intentions can sometimes... but come now, I was where you were once, and I know how hard it can be to resist testing something out as soon as possible.”

            “I’m not going to do anything without asking first, believe me. That’s probably a long way off, anyway,” she moped.

            “Well, I best not keep the doctor waiting. How about you and Giskard get acquainted? You know, the bond between a boy—or girl—and their first robot can survive centuries if properly maintained.”

            Her father lifted himself from the chair and left out the door they had come in from, Lansom disappearing after him. She was now suddenly alone in the brightly lit den with Giskard.

            He didn’t react to the new situation in any visible way. He simply waited there to be spoken to, would presumably wait eternally, never asking what came next. But she was being a bit harsh. Most robots were that way. Vasilia sighed and turned squarely to Giskard. He tilted his head down to her.

            “Sit down?” She pointed to the chair her father had just vacated.

            “Miss Vasilia, it would not be proper or expected for me to use the furniture in such a manner.”

            “Well, I don’t want you to look down on me, so you can either sit in the chair or sit on the floor.”

            Giskard stood completely still for a moment, then sank to the floor in front of her chair.

            “Good. Now, how old are you exactly?” She looked with distaste on his worn surface.

            “I was purchased by Doctor Fastolfe eighty-eight years ago. I was not operational before that time.”

            “Do you like doing household chores?”

            “I am perfectly suited to such tasks.”

            “No, I mean, do you _like_ it?”

            The robot paused yet again, then said, “I am pleased to be of service.”

            “How do you feel about being transferred to being my personal assistant?”

            “I am pleased to be of service in any way at all, and that includes being a personal assistant.”

            “So you don’t prefer being with me to doing chores?”

            “I am satisfied with any task given to me, Miss Vasilia.” He seemed like he was finished, but then said, “I prefer tasks which directly serve humans over tasks which passively serve them. In that sense, being your personal assistant might be considered preferable to passive tasks such as household chores.”

            “Good,” she said again. She stared at Giskard. How did one purposefully get acquainted with a robot? What was there to get to know? Robots had no secrets, and their personalities deviated in only minor ways. She knew the other robots just from them watching over her or else, as in Lansom’s case, from them showing some interest in her, but Giskard had never approached her or watched over her in any form. Asking questions was likely to elicit standard answers dictated by the three laws. It was no wonder robots weren’t considered much more than furniture, and certainly never friends. Perhaps a better way to get acquainted with a robot was to see how far it could be pushed. The precise thresholds of the Three Laws and their interactions varied more often than their personalities—in fact, that was the underlying reason for any difference in personality a robot might have—and the best way to find out what those thresholds were was the direct approach. Call it hands-on psychoanalysis.

              She got up out of her seat, and Giskard put his knee on the floor, no doubt wondering if it was better to rise in anticipation of following her or to stay seated as he had been directed to do.

            “You can stand,” Vasilia said.

            He rose easily. She only came up to his shoulders, but it was a bit better than with Lansom, who seemed to tower over her like a majestic silver tree.

            “I would like to go outside,” she said. She stood and stared at him expectantly.

            He stood looking at her, then dropped his gaze to the floor. Still she waited, wondering what he would do in this clearly ambiguous situation.

            Finally, he said, glancing toward the door, “If you wish to go outside, Miss Vasilia, surely you have permission to do so from your father.”

            “Indeed! Then let us go.” She walked out the door, feeling like quite the little adult with her very own robot in tow, momentarily forgetting her earlier reservations about his appearance.

            The sun was crawling towards its zenith as they walked in single file through the carefully fabricated wild. There were plenty of ways she might test the Laws, but she would have to be clever to learn anything of actual value about their respective weights. She smiled in satisfaction. Her father might not be sitting down with her to formally begin her education on the positronic brain, but she was self-motivated enough to start doing it on her own, in her own way. Surely her father would see nothing objectionable in any kind of test she put Giskard through. He was supposed to be her learning device, after all, and there couldn’t be a better way to learn about the positronic brain than to interact with it.

            “Isn’t it a beautiful day, Giskard?” she said without turning to him.

            “The temperature is within the range of greatest comfort for humans,” he observed.

            “So just say, ‘yes, it’s beautiful’ then.”

            “That would suggest that I had made a value judgment necessarily made only by humans. I would not want to be misunderstood.”

          “Well, maybe you can say what you want to everyone else, but to me, I want you to say, ‘yes, it’s beautiful’.”

            Giskard hesitated. “Yes, it is beautiful.” It was quite unconvincing in his expressionless voice.

            “No, you have to say, ‘Yes, _it’s_ beautiful’.”

            “Yes, _it’s_ beautiful.”

            “No! You can’t emphasize ‘it’s’! Just say it normally.”

            “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

            “Yes, like that. Although you could put a bit more emotion into it.”

            “I do not think I could replicate human emotion in my speech without careful direction on a phrase by phrase basis.”

            “Well let’s start with that one. You have to say it like this: ‘Yes, it’s _beautiful!_ ’” Vasilia loaded the word with perhaps an excessive amount of awe, but it was just as well for Giskard to have a dramatic example.

            “Yes, it’s _beautiful!_ ” he said, mimicking her tone of voice almost flawlessly. Vasilia giggled. It was quite strange to hear a robot speak in such a way. And yet somehow, it was very charming, even if a bit unnerving in how much more human it instantly made Giskard seem.

            “That was very good, Giskard,” she said.

            “I am happy this pleases you, Miss Vasilia,” he said, instantly returning to his normal, perfectly neutral tone.

            “If only there was a way to apply it more generally,” she said. “I wonder if that would be good?”

            “I do not know, Miss Vasilia. I have never encountered a robot that regularly mimics human emotion in his voice.”

            “I guess I’ll have to ask Father about it,” she said. 

            They had made it a ways from the house, and no structure could currently be seen in any direction. They were surrounded by short hills and patches of trees. All in all, Vasilia felt secluded enough to attempt the plan that had been forming in her mind during Giskard’s voice lessons. She stopped and looked beyond the edge of the grass, where a stand of fruit trees was growing amongst the evergreens. Apples hung on a number of the trees, bowing the branches with their weight. Vasilia looked around behind her. Giskard was there of course, but Vasilia couldn’t see any other of the many robots that tended her father’s property. It was just how she wanted it.

            “I would like to pick one of those apples,” she said, heading into the grove. She walked past the apple tree nearest the grass line, and pushed through the minimal underbrush until she reached one growing next to a tall evergreen.

            Giskard promptly plucked a ripe-looking apple from eye-level, inspected it briefly, and held it out to her. “Here you are, Miss Vasilia.”

            “Thanks, but I want to pick it myself. You can take that one back to the house.”

            “Am I to take it back at this very moment?” he asked.

            “No, I mean when we go back.” Vasilia tested a low, thick branch and sat on it, then brought her feet beneath her and stood, albeit hunched over to avoid hitting her head on an upper branch. She was now taller than Giskard and looked down on him with some satisfaction.

            Giskard looked up at her and said, “It is not safe to climb these branches, Miss Vasilia, particularly as heavy as they are with fruit.”

            “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

            Giskard seemed to accept her statement for the moment. She steadily climbed up until she was standing crookedly in the large split in the middle of the tree, and looked down at the robot, now partially obscured by branches and leaves.

            “Miss Vasilia, this is dangerous. It would be best to come down now,” Giskard said, shifting so that her face was in view.

            “No, it isn’t! I’m perfectly in control, I said.” And she was, for the most part. She had no fear of heights and considered herself to be light enough to not cause a problem. The tree had barely seemed to register the extra weight.

            “If you do not come down, I will have to come up for you.”

            “No. You’re too heavy. You might make the branch break and then I really will fall!”

            Giskard watched her from between the branches. She defiantly inched along the thickest of the upper branches, and it bowed slightly the nearer she came to the end. Giskard paced around directly beneath her.

            “Please come down at once. There is no reason to climb this tree. There are plenty of apples within reach of ground level.”

           It was a mark of the growing pressure of the First Law that he was attempting to take control of the situation. Vasilia ignored him, and concentrated on creeping along the branch until eventually she could reach the overhanging limb of the nearest evergreen. She grabbed it with relief and pulled herself up onto it.

            “Miss Vasilia! You are quite high enough. If you fall at this height, you may break a bone or worse! Come down now or I will be forced to act!”

            Vasilia felt some sinister pleasure that she had finally caused Giskard to project some of his own, robotic brand of emotion. It may only have been anxiety, doubtless the most commonly expressed emotion of all robots, but she was pleased nonetheless.

            “Don’t worry about me. I’m safe!” Vasilia grinned from her lofty perch.  

            “You are not safe! The branch is not stable! It is bending a great deal underneath your weight!”

            “Well, what can you do about it?”

            Giskard was directly underneath her branch, pacing and fidgeting as he looked up. “I must retrieve a ladder.” He took a few steps away but stopped and turned back around. “But I must not leave in case you fall and need emergency assistance.”

            It was exactly the conflict she had planned on. She was already pleasantly surprised that he had let her climb the tree at all, but it was clearly not dangerous at first, and by the time it was, she was too high for him to act directly. What would he do now, the poor thing?

            He walked to the edge of the grove, not out of her eyesight, and looked out. He was surely hoping to see some other robot that he might call upon to get a ladder. He looked about, left and right, but soon turned back and slowly made his way toward the evergreen.

             “Move toward the base of the branch where it is more stable,” he directed, and Vasilia began to inch along in the proposed direction. “Then, if you remain still and hold onto the trunk of the tree, it will be reasonably safe for me to leave—”

            There was a splitting crack.

            Vasilia’s branch suddenly swung vertically beneath her. She screamed as she lost her balance and saw the ground coming toward her, accompanied by the loud snapping of brush as Giskard dashed forward. But he was too slow. She landed roughly and felt a nauseating twinge pulse around her ankle, then a sharp piercing pain in her tailbone that sent tears to her eyes.

            “Aagghhh!” Vasilia cried as she gripped her ankle in pain from where she lay on the duff. She squinted up and saw the blurry outline of Giskard a few feet away, standing in a rigid panic. Vasilia wiped her eyes and looked again. He should be running to her aid, picking her up and carrying her off to safety, not standing there immobilized. “Giskard!” She cried. But he didn’t behave as though he had heard her at all. Vasilia’s breath caught. She couldn’t have possibly broken her first robot on the first day?!

            “Giskard, do something! Anything!”

            He moved forward jerkily, as though it took terrible effort to move. “M-m—V—”

            “Oh, Giskard!” The pain in her ankle now seemed distant and of minor importance. “I’m alright! I’m okay! It wasn’t your fault! Please, listen to me!” She tried to pick herself up to prove her point but her foot felt like it was going to pop off her leg when she tried to put it beneath her.

            “Please remain as you are!” Another robot pushed past Giskard and crouched by her side. “You are in pain, are you not?”

            “No!”

            The robot, one of her father’s landscape maintenance crew, jerked back in confusion. “I heard a human cry of distress. It matched your voice, Miss Vasilia. You seem to be injured in some fashion. Allow me to transport you indoors.”

            “No!” She repeated. “I’m not injured! I’m _fine!_ Perfectly fine! It was just a little fright, nothing more! _Nothing more!_ ” She stared into Giskard’s faintly glowing eyes with intensity, willing, begging him to believe her.

            The landscaper robot looked at the broken branch hanging by a strip of bark, then knelt by her side. “Have you been struck by this branch? Have you fallen from it? Are you certain you do not need assistance?” The robot stacked his worried questions on top of each other. In any other situation, it would have been strange behavior.

            “I don’t need any assistance, and even if I did, Giskard’s right here to help me,” she said firmly.

            And slowly, painfully slowly, Giskard’s rigid stance relaxed into something more natural. The other robot appraised Giskard briefly, seeming reluctant to leave her in the care of a robot who had obviously failed in his duties to her safety.

            “Go away!” Vasilia yelled at the landscaper robot. “I’m fine, so you don’t need to worry. Get back to whatever you were doing!” She panted, then added, more calmly, “You did good to come check, but everything’s fine.”

            Finally, the landscaper robot bowed his head, stood, and retreated through the low brush.

            “Giskard, are you okay?”

            “Yes, Miss Vasilia,” he said flatly.

            “Your positronic pathways are fine and clear and all that?”

            “I am experiencing some difficulty, Miss Vasilia.”

            “But I’m mostly fine!” Vasilia tried to smile.

            “But you are not completely fine, and I am responsible.”

            “I don’t care about that. It was my fault. You were trying to help me, and it was just chance that you weren’t right there to catch me, or whatever it is you think you could have done better.” She doubted being caught by a robot would be much more comfortable than being caught by the ground.

            “I should not have let you put yourself in such a precarious position to begin with.”

            “Oh Giskard, nevermind about all of that! Now, come here and help me up!”

            Giskard knelt and lowered a hand. She grabbed it and pulled herself up on her good foot, wincing as even the slightest pressure on her bad one produced a spasm of pain. She took a deep breath. “I don’t think I can walk. Please carry me back to the house.” She said it with firm detachment. There was no need to let her emotions affect Giskard’s mental state any more than they already had.

            Giskard put an arm at her back and lifted her legs with excessive gentleness. “Please tell me if I-I cause you any f-further pain.”

            “No, Giskard, I’m fine. I barely feel any pain at all like this.” She sighed. Why did robots have to be so neurotic about the First Law? She was only thankful that they were a bit more resilient to mental freezeout now than in the past. Still, she had been scared for a minute there. She hadn’t even been seriously injured and Giskard was having difficulty adapting to the new situation after his failure to protect her. Maybe he was even more simple-minded than she had first thought. Well, she would fix that someday, someday when she was a great roboticist. But when had she decided that she wanted to be a roboticist? Yet she surprised herself with the sudden conviction she felt about her choice of career.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Giskard and Vasilia reached the house, there seemed to be a bit of a buzz about Vasilia’s injured state, evident from her need to be carried in such a manner. They were approached no fewer than fourteen times by robots offering assistance, but each time, Vasilia sent them away firmly, and by the time the fifteenth appeared out of nowhere begging after her condition, she was very short tempered indeed. Giskard remained completely silent, and Vasilia couldn’t help but wonder if he was simply too mortified to speak.

            Upon entering the foyer, Lansom swooped down on them like a giant metal eagle.

            “There has been some confusion among the robots, Miss Vasilia. Are you, or are you not, injured?”

            “Where’s my father?” she demanded.

            “He is in a very important meeting with Doctor Sarton. I have been sent away to see to your condition.”

           So her father couldn’t even be pulled away from the meeting in the event of her injury. She sighed unhappily. Well, there was no point denying it to Lansom who was here at her father’s orders.

            “It’s my ankle,” she said.

            “How has it come to be injured?” Lansom asked, his eyes straying to her feet.

            “It was just an accident,” Vasilia said.

            “I am responsible,” Giskard said, speaking for the first time since they had left the grove. Lansom stepped back in surprise and stared down at the smaller robot.

            “Giskard! Be quiet!” Vasilia felt like smacking her forehead in exasperation.

            “How are you responsible for this injury?” Lansom asked. But Giskard remained silent.

            “He’s just overreacting,” Vasilia said. “He’s not responsible.”

            Lansom seemed to accept her statement and resumed his mothering. “Let us put you to bed. I will notify your father’s physician immediately. Friend Giskard, please bring Miss Vasilia to her bedroom.” He placed a hand on Giskard’s back and pushed forward gently.

            Giskard entered Vasilia’s private wing—formerly her mother’s, she knew—and walked down the hall to her bedroom. The sun, now high in the sky, streamed through the ceiling. She had little need for the extravagance of an entire wing of the establishment to herself, but her father had insisted that this was only right. But there were many rooms she did not use, as she preferred to spend her time in the common area of the house and even her father’s wing sometimes. Today, the hallway seemed particularly long. She leaned against Giskard and felt lulled by the warm sunlight hitting her face and the careful, gentle rhythm of his movements.

            Basley stepped out of a niche across from her bedroom door and said, “May I be of some assistance?”

            And quite tired of sending robots away without aim, she said, “Basley, I would like you to bring me some juice. And something to eat while you’re at it.”

            He paused and said, “It is not proper to eat in your bedroom, Miss Vasilia.” He followed Giskard as he walked into said bedroom and laid her down on the soft blankets with more care than was necessary.

            “Miss Vasilia is currently restricted to her bedroom, friend Basley,” Lansom said, appearing behind him in the doorway. “It is acceptable to bend the rules given the situation.”

            Basley retreated to see to Vasilia’s requests, and Lansom came to her bedside. “The physician will arrive in one half hour.”

            “Have you told my father?”

            “It did not seem prudent for me to interrupt his meeting further with this private matter. We will look after you until the time he is available.”

            “ _You_ will, Lansom?”

            “I will as long as I am not needed for my usual duties,” he said.

            “That’s good. How long do you think this meeting of my father’s will last?”

            “It is impossible for me to predict. When we were covertly informed that there was some kind of incident, Doctor Fastolfe immediately sent me out to see to it—that is, to see to you. At that time, they had not yet begun discussing the purpose of the meeting in depth. Doctor Sarton had only arrived less than fifteen minutes earlier.”

            “So it’s probably going to go on for a long time,” Vasilia moped.

            “I would judge that it will take at least one hour, and it may easily be more.”

            Basley returned carrying a tray laden with a cup of juice and a serving of yogurt with fruit. He set it down on her bedside table, glanced across her reclined form, then went to her wardrobe.

            “Your current clothing has been dirtied by your accident outdoors,” Lansom said. “Is it possible to remove your shoes without causing you pain?”

            “Just let me do it.” Vasilia leaned forward and removed her shoes gingerly, determined not to show any sign of discomfort in her face. Her eyes flickered to Giskard, who was standing back, surrendering to the more skillful administrations of Lansom and Basley.

            She couldn’t help it. She was worried about him.

            With the help of Lansom and Basley, Vasilia was soon in clean, soft garments.

            “I would like to know exactly what happened, Miss Vasilia, if I may,” Lansom said.

            “Why? It’s not really important,” Vasilia mumbled.

            “I simply wish to know the details so that I may correct any circumstance which may have led to the accident, such as an unexpected hole in the ground or a hidden stone.”

             “It was nothing like that,” she said.

            “Were you engaging in rough play with another child?” he pressed. “I do not believe friend Giskard is programmed to effectively moderate such activities.”

            “Lansom, you know there aren’t any other children near here.” She sighed. “I was just playing by myself. It wasn’t anything to do with the ground or anything like that. It was just an accident, like I said.”

            “It was due to my poor judgment that Miss Vasilia found herself injured,” Giskard said quietly.

            Lansom didn’t react with any surprise. “So you have suggested, friend Giskard. What were the circumstances?”

            “Don’t ask Giskard, Lansom!” Vasilia groaned.

            “If friend Giskard is flawed in his ability to assess situational conflicts, he is a risk to your wellbeing and therefore a poor guardian to you. For your own safety, I must know what has happened.”

            Vasilia hissed in displeasure and set her mouth in an unhappy pout. Giskard may have to suffer this questioning, but she wanted to make sure Lansom knew she didn’t like it.

            But Lansom barely paid her mind. “Please explain the situation as it happened,” he said to Giskard.

            Giskard began with a steady voice, “Miss Vasilia wished to pick an apple from the small grove southwest of here. I allowed her to climb the tree at her insistence, despite my reservations. She was quite high when she transferred to a nearby evergreen, and it was not clear what the best course of action would be to protect her at this point.”

            “It was indeed poor judgment for you to allow her to climb the tree to begin with,” Lansom said.

           “Nevertheless, that is what happened. I could not see any other robot in immediate view to ask for assistance, and I did not want to leave Miss Vasilia alone in a precarious position to retrieve a ladder. I suggested that she move along the branch toward the sturdier base, and it was due to her movement at my suggestion that the branch snapped and she fell. I was unable to catch her or dampen her fall in any manner.”

            “That is a collection of grave errors on your part, friend Giskard, but it was due to a number of elements that were beyond your ability to control.”

            “Oh Lansom, it was my fault,” Vasilia broke in. “I told him not to worry about me and that I was fine.”

            “That should not have altered his judgment with regards to your safety.”

            Vasilia sighed. “I told him I wasn’t in any danger. And it wasn’t until that last branch that I was, and by then, he was trying to figure out the best way to help me. What would you have done?” She shot Lansom a dirty look, which was doubtless completely lost on him.

            “I would not have allowed you to climb the tree,” he said simply.

            “But how could you know it was dangerous in the beginning?”

            “I would have predicted that you would try to climb as high as you were able, which would be much higher than was safe.”

            “But that’s because you know me!” she cried. “Giskard barely knows me so he couldn’t have known!”

            “That is all the more reason he should not have allowed such a thing to happen in the first place. But while the situation could have been handled with more skill, your injuries are not life-threatening. Still, I will mention the incident to Doctor Fastolfe.”

            “Oh, don’t!” Her father would no doubt guess exactly what she would have been attempting and decide that she wasn’t old enough yet to be completely in charge of a robot. What if he punished Giskard for failing to look out for her?

            “I must report on all irregular behavior, Miss Vasilia,” Lansom said.

            “This is not the only way I have failed,” Giskard said. “After she fell, I experienced a degradation of efficiency in my positronic matrix that rendered me all but incapable of immediately assisting to her needs. It was not until friend Randall arrived that I was able to react in a suitable manner.”

            “That should not be,” Lansom said.

            “Nevertheless, this is what occurred.”

            “If Miss Vasilia had been seriously injured, an immediate response could have meant the difference between life and death.”

            Giskard bowed his head. “I dare not contemplate the implication of such an incident.”

            Lansom looked on Giskard, and Vasilia wondered what he was thinking. Was he reassessing Giskard’s worth and abilities? Was he looking down on him as an inferior creature? There was no doubt Lansom would tell her father all of this, and what would he think? Maybe Giskard had never been personally responsible for the safety of a human before this, and what kind of impression would it make if his first day on the job, he had shown himself to be incapable of what should have been simple emergency procedures? To panic at the sign of danger was the mark of a primitive brain and could make a robot all but useless for interaction with humans. It wasn’t fair. Why had her father given her such an old robot? He had to have known this would happen.

            The physician arrived a short time later, and was led to her room by Jamison, the greeter. He was an extremely handsome specimen of a Spacer. His short wavy auburn hair was brushed to the side in an attractive swoop, and he had the longest, thickest eyelashes Vasilia had ever seen on any man or woman. She would have schemed ways of becoming injured behind robot backs more often if his personality matched his looks, but in reality, he was the most painfully awkward person to interact with. The garish mauve sweater was the only the first of many uncomfortable features.

            “So, little Vasilia,” he said as he came down by her ankle, nearly stuffing his perfect nose against her littlest toe. His effeminate voice clashed with his strong, masculine face, and every word sounded like it slipped out of his mouth without permission. “I’m just—hmm—hmm—just going to place your ankle in my—hmm—holo-x-scanner. I’ll be gentle,” he said, casting a labored glance across the bed at Basley and Giskard, who were keeping a respectful distance from the procedure. Doctor Chisley lifted her foot into an object that looked like a mechanical breadbox and closed the top. With a finger massaging his front tooth, he adjusted two dials and pressed the big shiny red button.

            The breadbox whirred for a second then became silent once more.

            “There now, that’s all. Nothing—hmm—invasive.”

            Vasilia blinked. Lansom loomed hawkishly over Doctor Chisley as close as his deference to custom would permit. The physician, for his part, behaved as though he was completely unaware of any robotic eyes staring holes into his paisley back.

            A visiscreen popped up from the machine like toast and Chisley pulled it out.

            “Well, that’s a bit boring, hmm,” he said as he stared at the display with squinted eyes.

            “What is it? What’s wrong?” Vasilia said.

            “Oh nothing,” he said with a sigh, and Vasilia had the distinct impression he was disappointed. “It’s only a sprain.”

            “Well, that’s good!” she said.

            “Yes, yes, I suppose. Shoo, robot, you’re standing in my light.”

            Lansom jumped back into a more passive position along the periphery of the room. Vasilia grinned at him over Chisley’s wavy head, and for an instance, it seemed to her as though the robot responded with the small smile his design allowed. But she blinked in surprise, and it was gone.

            “I’m going to give you this bandage, Vasilia. Be sure to wear it during the... the day—but not while you sleep,” he added, rolling his lustrously lashed eyes. He set a bright blue tube of fabric on the bed. “Also, here is a medication that will improve healing and—hmm—lessen the—ah—healing time.” And that was followed by a small white bottle.

            “I will see that Miss Vasilia is perfectly tended to, sir,” Lansom said.

            “Yes, yes, I’m sure.”

            “How am I supposed to walk?” Vasilia said, indignant.

            “Oh, it is better to stay in bed until the pain is less.” Chisley began packing away his breadbox and other small accoutrements.

            “In bed?! But I have things to do!”

            “What could a _child_ ,” he said, with obvious distaste, “possibly have to do? You have no responsibilities of any kind.”

            “I have my studies!”

            “Oh yes, and I happen to know your illustrious father sees to those personally, so you might take this time to enjoy your bed as your classroom—assuming it’s not your normal classroom, that is.”

            “How dare you!” Vasilia said in a perfect imitation of the female protagonist in every Spacer holodrama.

            “Now, now,  little Vasilia, it’s—hmm—best to remember your status. You’re just a child.”

            Vasilia could only stare in an affronted silence.

            “Excuse me, sir, but you are offending Miss Vasilia,” Lansom said. “If you are finished with your dispensation of aid, as seems to be the case, I will take care of administrative details if you will follow me.”

            The physician stood and both he and his chunky mauve sweater disappeared through the door after Lansom.

            “What an insufferable man!” Vasilia chirped, enjoying her sudden moment of play-acting.

            “Not to disregard your feelings, Miss Vasilia, but he _has_ provided proper care,” Basley said as he approached and began to fit the bandage. It sealed down her ankle gently along a magnetic strip. He picked up the bottle of medication.  “I will provide medication at the appropriate intervals. For now, if you should need anything, I will be just outside your door.”

            For the first time since returning to the house, she was alone again with Giskard. He remained where he was against the wall in silence.

            “Giskard, are you okay?” Vasilia said.

            “In what way do you mean, Miss Vasilia?” he said, sounding normal enough.

            “Well, you’ve been so quiet.”

            “I am unaccustomed to speaking unless spoken to, except in circumstances where some information I am aware of may be helpful to the situation.”

            “Well,” she said, considering this, “as long as it’s not because you’re ashamed or something like that.”

            “Ashamed?”

            “Yeah, I mean, in front of the other robots.”

            “I don’t understand what you mean, Miss Vasilia.”

            Vasilia smoothed her covers absentmindedly. “Come closer. You don’t have to stand there by the wall.”

            Giskard walked up next to her bed.

            “That’s better, but it would be even better if you were sitting. Bring that chair over here and sit.”

            Soon, Giskard was sitting stiffly by her bed.

            “I already told you I don’t blame you about what happened,” Vasilia said, lying on her side.

            “Yes, Miss Vasilia, I remember.”

            She looked into his face and wondered, again, at the complexity of his thoughts. Was he feeling regret at all or was he past it now? Was the crisis over in his mind, and with it the conflict?

            “Well, I’m stuck in bed now for at least a day,” she said. “So we’ll have lots of time to get to know each other now—the normal way, not the dangerous way,” she added.

            “If that is what you wish, Miss Vasilia.”

            “I don’t think I want you to call me that. Every one of the other robots does. You’re my own robot so I don’t want you to be like all the others.”

            “What would you prefer to be called, Miss—Mistress?” he said as though his use of the word surprised him. 

            “Oh no, not _that_. That’s much worse. That’s so old-fashioned, back when robots were actually _slaves!_ ”

            Giskard remained silent.

            “No, something else. Something like... Little Miss!”

            “If that’s what you wish, Little Miss,” he said.

            Vasilia felt a little pulse of joy in her chest. She had been planning on having Lansom use it, but couldn’t get herself to ask. Lansom certainly paid her enough attention for it to seem authentic, but he wasn’t much like Andrew Martin. Andrew started out simple, so the story went, just like Giskard. And just like Andrew, Giskard was going to get more advanced over time if she had anything to say about it. _Maybe_ he could even become like a man somehow once her father’s humaniform project became successful! Was that possible? Well if Andrew could do it....

            “Do you know the story of Andrew Martin?” Vasilia asked suddenly.

            “I am not familiar with it, Little Miss.”

            “Oh. Oh well.” She was almost disappointed that it wasn’t a secret legend among robots as much as among humans. But she supposed robots had no secret legends or anything interesting like that. Imagine that—a secret robot culture. Surely such a thing was little more than her own romantic notion.

            “Can’t you relax, Giskard? You look like you’re trying to touch the chair as little as possible.”

            “I am not sure how to appear to be in a relaxed state, Little Miss. I feel no differently while standing, sitting, or being in any other position.”

            “Well first you have to lean back—that’s the most important thing. Yes, like that. Now put your arms on the arm rests. Much better.” She appraised the now relatively relaxed looking Giskard, and it somehow seemed more unnatural than his previous stiff-yet-perfect posture. But she liked it this way. There was simply something very distracting about a thing that looked like a human being in a position that would not be comfortable for a real human.

            “If I asked you to carve me something, what would you do?” she said.

            “I would attempt to carve what you requested, Little Miss, although I’m not sure that I am suited to such tasks.”

            “But what if I didn’t tell you what I wanted, and told you to just carve _something_.”

            “I would not be able to proceed without specific details.”

            “Even if I ordered you?”

            “It would simply not be possible, Little Miss.”

            “What if I was going to be _killed_ if you didn’t carve something?” she said dramatically.

            “I regrettably would not be able to proceed without details, though in such an instance, this would likely destroy me.”

            “Oh.” She sighed. The story was really just a dumb fairytale, after all.

            Vasilia rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She was already bored. If only he were more curious and would ask questions himself. She snorted. Sure, and while she’s at it, why shouldn’t he dream and laugh and have flesh and blood? He was just a robot, and for the second time that day, she remembered why robots made poor friends.

            It was really quite ironic, all their “friend” _this_ and “friend” _that._ Who were roboticists kidding? When she was a roboticist, she wouldn’t have her robots call anything a friend. It was just something done for the psychological benefit of humans, she was sure, so they could believe their robotic household was one big happy family of friends. Well she had no need for such false sentiment.

            What were robots to each other, really? There were no Three Laws about how robots should treat each other. Underneath that “friend” title, did they really see each other as little more than the cold, unfeeling machines humans saw them as? Did they have any empathy for each other or care about each other in any way? Could robots care about humans at all if not for the Three Laws, for that matter? Or did they _not_ care at all, and were merely always compelled to act, and humans perceived this as personal interest in their wellbeing? Would any robot ever give its life to protect another robot, just because it cared? She laughed to herself. They were pointless questions and the answers were obvious. She just had a hard time believing them; how could an intelligent being completely lack such an important facet of... of _being?_

            And then there was Lansom. A relatively new specimen, in body and brain. If ever a robot seemed to have some personal interest in a human’s wellbeing, it was him. He had taken to her instantly, and for what reason? Perhaps her father unwittingly added such a detail to the brain subconsciously based on his own feelings. It was possible, but her father wasn’t one for such errors. That would mean he had to have done it on purpose, and that seemed much more likely. But the feelings didn’t have to be spontaneous for them be real, did they? Lansom did care about her, didn’t he?

            Whereas she had no illusions that Giskard cared about her in any way beyond what the Laws required. But why should he, even if he could? She’d only known him a few hours, and in that short amount of time, she had already plotted his distress and succeeded in causing him to have a robotic panic attack. And yet he sat there benignly, casting no blame except perhaps on himself, and replying to her random questions without judgment. In some ways, she grudgingly admitted, robots made better friends than humans.

            And it was during this stretch of thought and silence that her father walked into the room, shadowed by Lansom once more. Her father looked on Giskard in surprise, who reacted by losing the recline and rising to his feet. The man’s attention quickly turned back to his dear daughter.

            “Vasilia, darling! Lansom tells me you have a sprained ankle!”

            “Yeah,” she shrugged.

            “How did you manage that in the short time I was occupied?”

            Vasilia looked incredulous. “It’s been hours since we were in the den.”

            “Well, and so you run off and get yourself hurt? Wasn’t Giskard with you?”

            “You don’t know what happened, yet?” Her eyes passed to Lansom.

            At that, Lansom stepped forward. “Pardon me, sir, for not immediately explaining the situation as it has been reported to me.”

            Her father motioned him to remain quiet. “I would prefer to hear the story first hand.”

            “I was climbing a tree and I fell and sprained my ankle. There’s not really a story,” she said. She was suddenly regretting not more firmly ordering Giskard to be silent about the matter. But Lansom knew anyway, so it wouldn’t be secret for long.

            And right on cue, Lansom said, “This is a very simplistic summary of the incident, lacking in multiple important details.” It was the robot’s way of accusing her of lying—or at least not telling the whole truth.

           And Lansom would not interrupt unless he felt the important details were, indeed, important. Her father said, “Is that right? Well then, Vasilia, what are these details?”

            Vasilia threw her arms out in an explosive sigh. “I was just seeing how Giskard would react to me climbing a tree!”

            “And? Now, I know there must be more than that.” He settled into the chair Giskard had lately been occupying. And as for Giskard, he had sunk back against the wall. Vasilia suddenly wondered if, after years of doing housework and trying to remain mostly unseen, he did not feel comfortable about being expected to constantly remain in view. “Vasilia?” her father prompted again.

            “Okay! So he didn’t react well! That is, he let me climb it and that was his _first_ mistake, so Lansom says, and then the branch broke and I fell, and Giskard panicked and his brain slowed and so some other robot helped me first, and that was his _worst_ mistake, so Lansom says.”

            Her father did not immediately reply. He rubbed his chin in thought. “You must have been quite high,” he said. He did not seem to be himself perturbed by the thought.

            “Yeah, I was pretty high,” she admitted in a low voice.

            “But I still can’t believe Giskard would experience such difficulty in an emergency. He’s better than that.” He turned in his chair and looked at Giskard with some concern. Giskard showed no sign that he was aware he was the subject of speculation.

            Vasilia suspected her father was too blinded by his love for the robot to admit how dim he was. The man probably hadn’t interacted with the robot for years, letting his memory of him become sweeter than the reality.

            “If I may, sir,” Lansom interjected yet again.

            “Yes, what is it?”

            “In the previous relay of the facts, it was stated that friend Giskard’s instructions were responsible for the breaking of the branch, causing him to have violated the First Law by action rather than inaction. This is a considerably graver error than the latter.”

            Her father’s face lit with comprehension. “Ah yes, I see now. Clearly an accident, but he would, of course, shoulder the blame, and such a thing could naturally cause difficulty. Still...” and his eyes darkened once more. “To cause such a difficulty so as to render him immobile for a noticeable period of time, particularly during an emergency....” He sighed. “Maybe I _have_ chosen wrongly for you, my dear daughter.”

            “I must agree,” Lansom said. “Friend Giskard’s inability to act in a time of crisis presents a clear danger to Miss Vasilia’s wellbeing.”

            Vasilia noticed out of the corner of her eye that Giskard’s head bowed ever so slightly.

            “You guys aren’t being fair!” Vasilia cried, and was surprised by the vehemence in her voice.

            Her father was likewise surprised, and jumped slightly at her outburst.

            “You can’t sit here and talk about him like that!”

            “But Vasilia, what can you possibly mean? The robot doesn’t have feelings, you know,” he laughed slightly, but seemed unnerved at the thought of his very own daughter forgetting something so elementary for even a moment.

            “He might not have feelings, but he _does_ have the Three Laws, and sitting here telling him he’s a danger to humans... what if he gets some idea that he’s better off inoperative or something horrible like that?!”

            “Goodness me, Vasilia, suicide? In a robot? Where do you get these ideas?”

            “Well it’s possible, isn’t it? If a robot believed that the only way for him to prevent harm to humans was if he wasn’t around to be trusted with them? Or if there was some other reason he was a danger without meaning to?” She cast Giskard worried glances, subconsciously afraid she might be giving him ideas. But he had been completely silent since her father had entered. If he were to suddenly be inoperative, how could she tell?

            “Well, it’s conceivable, I suppose, but for a robot to make that decision himself is highly unlikely. It is the human’s responsibility to assess the danger inherent in the life of a robot and proceed accordingly. Most flaws can be corrected with a bit of examination, so to destroy the whole brain would be a bit overkill, not to mention a terrible shame. And if nothing else, the robot would simply not allow himself to be put into a position where this potential danger—in this case, his inability to act in first-hand emergencies—would have an opportunity to cause an issue.”

            “Pardon my interruption, sir,” Giskard said quietly, “but given the circumstances, I would suggest precisely such a course of action. Allowing me to be in an assistant position is something I cannot allow any longer. I will recommence my previous duties immediately upon dismissal.”

            Vasilia furrowed her brow. “Father, you can’t let him!”

            “Oh? But Vasilia, dear, why not? I thought you weren’t thrilled with him anyway. I chose him because I have a particular affection for him, but he’s not the only candidate by any means. I certainly wouldn’t have chosen him if I had known of this issue.”

            “It’s just that I already had plans for him,” she said slowly.

            “But you’ve only had him a few hours. Any plans you’ve made are just as relevant to any other robot I might choose for you.”

            “Well, I don’t want another robot. I want him.”

            “Miss Vasilia,” Lansom said, “I also will not allow him to remain your personal assistant. You need not concern yourself with his safety—I will order him with precision so that I may ward off any tendencies he may have toward making himself inoperative due to this failure.” Vasilia noticed he had spoken the last part very carefully. It was little more than a placating offer. Neither of them believed a robot would simply destroy itself.

            “It’s settled then,” her father said. “Giskard, you’re dismissed.” Giskard tipped his head in acknowledgement and left.

            “This just isn’t fair,” Vasilia said, feeling her eyes begin to burn. “It was my fault. The branch would have broken anyway whenever I moved... it was just coincidence that he happened to feel responsible.”

            “Now, darling,” her father said, speaking gently now that the business had been dealt with. “It has nothing to do with him perceiving he guided you to danger. This is only about his inability to act in a crisis. It’s just not safe.”

            “But it was only because he thought it was his fault I was hurt! How likely is _that_ to happen?”

            “More often than you would think. Robots have the tendency to shoulder the blame for things which they couldn’t possibly be responsible for.”

            “Maybe for not seeing that there was danger. But that’s different than a robot specifically causing somebody to come to be injured, as he’s perceived he’s done.” And she felt very sad that despite her constant objections to this interpretation of the accident, Giskard probably still believed he had directly caused her injury. “You can’t tell me that happens often,” she begged.

            “Well, no, not often. But simply because he froze up when he thought his action caused your injury is no evidence that he would _not_ freeze up if he thought he caused an injury by inaction.”

            “But you sounded really surprised when you thought that’s what happened!”

            “Well yes, but to be honest, I’m surprised even still, given the reality of what happened. Try to let it go, Vasilia dear. One robot is not too different from another, especially in the simpler base models. You’ll barely notice after you get used to the physical difference.”

            “Fine,” she said flatly (robotically, she thought wryly). She leaned back into her pillow and stared at the ceiling once more. Now she just wanted everybody to leave—even Lansom. “I’d like to rest, now,” she said.

            “But darling, you haven’t told me about your ankle. Is it bad?”

            “Lansom’ll tell you everything. Just ask him.”

            “Well, alright. I’m sorry for my disappearance, by the way. Truly, I am. I fully intended to spend the morning with you, but Doctor Sarton had something very important to discuss. It couldn’t wait.”

            “I understand,” she said, although she wished she didn’t.

            Her father sounded like he wanted to say something else, but he got up from the chair—Giskard’s chair—and headed for the door.

            “Basley’s just out here,” he said when he reached the frame. “If you need something.”

            “I know,” she said. “He’s always right outside my door.”

            “Of course, of course,” he said, smoothing his vest. “Well, I’ll just be in the lab, then, if you wish to see me.”

            He waited for some sort of response, but when he realized he wasn’t going to get one, walked out. Lansom hesitated, but soon left as well, and she was alone. She rolled onto her side and stared at the chair, all the more noticeable in its emptiness for its position by her bedside.                                                                              


End file.
